


Jiggity Jig

by Speranza



Category: due South
Genre: Flash Fic, M/M, Moving In Together, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-06-05
Updated: 2003-06-05
Packaged: 2017-12-09 19:45:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Speranza/pseuds/Speranza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'd come home with Ray hundreds of times before he'd been officially invited to move in, and so he'd had ample opportunity to observe Ray's coming home routine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jiggity Jig

**Author's Note:**

> Note: For the  DS Flashfiction 180 Degrees of Separation challenge.

Fraser stood at the door and tried to remember which key went into which lock. It still seemed strange to him that Ray had no fewer than three locks on his door, not counting the chain, which of course could only be engaged from the inside. 

( _Their_ door, he thought, correcting himself. It was _their_ door, now.) 

He opened the door and stepped into the apartment. Dief, who was sprawled comfortably on Ray's armchair ( _their_ armchair; their armchair, now), lifted his head, looked at him, and put his head right down again. 

Fraser hung his hat on the hook Ray'd installed next to the closet door ("a place to hang yer hat, Frase—that's what you need") and unzipped his leather jacket. His hand was on the closet doorknob when he suddenly stopped, turned his head, and glanced into the living room (his living room) with its messy, comfortable clutter of half-read newspapers and remote controls. A balled-up napkin sat on a crumb-covered plate that Ray'd obviously forgotten to take to the sink last night. A quilt—he suddenly pictured Ray fallen asleep on the sofa, half-wrapped in the quilt like it was a toga—was jammed between the arm of the sofa and the cushion. 

Fraser let go of the doorknob, took off his leather jacket, and draped it over the sofa back. No, that wasn't quite right. He picked it up again and dropped it more carelessly. 

Hmm. It still didn't manage to have Ray's specific _je ne sais quoi_ , but he figured that would come in time, with practice. 

What next? 

He'd come home with Ray hundreds of times before he'd been officially invited to move in, and so he'd had ample opportunity to observe Ray's coming home routine. Jacket wrenched off the narrow shoulders and tossed over the nearest piece of furniture. Then, what? Then, beer. Fraser made a beeline for the refrigerator, opened it, and selected an icy brown bottle from the top shelf. 

Opener It took him a second to remember where Ray kept his bottle opener, a kitchen tool Fraser never used. He thought hard for a moment, picturing Ray's lithe grace—and then reached for the handle of the small side drawer, which slid out easily to reveal a clutter of cutlery, skewers, and keys—as well as the bottle opener. In a flash of sense-memory, Fraser bumped the drawer shut with a Ray-like flick of his hip. He grinned to himself as he popped the top off the beer and took a deep swig. 

Cold. Wheaty. Quite good, really. He opened the cabinet, took down a tub of salted peanuts, pulled the plastic top off—and then hesitated. He really ought to wash his hands first. Except Ray wouldn't, so Fraser dug his fist into the tin, scooped up a handful of peanuts, and headed into the living room ( _his_ living room). He tilted his head back and brought his fist to his mouth, using his thumb to let the peanuts dribble into his open mouth one by one. 

When he'd finished the peanuts, Fraser licked the remaining salt off his palm and reached for Ray's universal remote control. A push of the button brought the stereo to life with a roar, and he listened to some thrashing punk-type thing for a moment before hitting another button, which silenced the stereo and popped the television picture on. 

Ah, cool, Fraser thought, crossing his feet at the ankles on the coffee table. _Quincy._

When he heard Ray's key in the lock, Fraser turned his head and watched with some amusement as Diefenbaker lifted his head, considered Ray, then put his head down again. "Hey," Fraser said, feeling quite pleased with himself for resisting the urge to stand up. 

"Heya." Ray picked up Fraser's jacket and hanging in the closet alongside his own. "How was your day?" Ray asked, heading into the kitchen. 

"It was fine. Fairly boring." Fraser watched as Ray stopped to cap and put away the tin of peanuts before popping the top off his own bottle of beer. "Yours?" 

"Bleh." Ray took a long draught of beer and then drifted into the living room. "There was a stabbing in Blue Island Park. _Kids_ — somebody insulted somebody else's girlfriend. Real kid stuff, except for the knives and the blood." Ray collapsed onto the sofa next to Fraser and leaned over to give him a quick, absent kiss before sinking back into the cushions and propping his feet up beside Fraser's. "Days like this, you don't know why you bother," Ray said, before adding, brightly: "Oh, hey, _Quincy_."   


End file.
